Learning the Language
by VioletzeEcoFreak
Summary: Canada has a history of Ukrainian immigration, and he decides it's finally time to learn some Ukrainian in order to woo Ukraine. Except it's not wooing, America, he's just being a good friend!


Prompt: Canada learning Ukrainian in order to woo Ukraine. Actually my first kink meme exploit evar.

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Canada was not a linguist, but he was pretty sure with a little bit of proper training he'd make a good one. One of the benefits of having a very multi-cultural, multiethnic background (well, so to speak), and acknowledging it as such, was that languages came much easier to Canada than they did to some other nations. America still boggled at the ease with which his twin swapped between English, French, and that indeterminate language that people like them spoke when dealing with his two fathers.

So, when Canada first met Ukraine so he could show her exactly how the immigrants to his land were going, he decided that he would learn Ukrainian. And then one thing came up, then another, and soon another, and Canada never got past the basic phrases he picked up from the Ukrainian farmers out on his prairies.

Of course, when Canada had mentioned offhandedly to America he wanted to learn the language America had sat up very abruptly from his position lying on the sofa.

"Why's that?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"W-Well…" Canada flushed a little and tried to ignore his stuttering. "There's a… I have a big Ukrainian population and it's only fair if I learn the language, and…"

"A cruu_uuuush_," America sing-songed merrily.

"Sh-Shut up," Canada snapped, still red faced. He launched a pillow at America's face.

----

DVDs intended to teach foreign language weren't quite so good as immersion, Canada learned, but they did a decent job at teaching the basics of a new tongue. So when he got a chance to meet Ukraine again, at the Canadian embassy there, he was pretty sure he was prepared.

"україна!" he called happily when he saw the woman at the airport. Then he caught himself. No nation names in public, no nation names in public. "Katyusha!" he corrected himself, using Russia's favourite nickname for her. He waved and she found him and drove him down to the embassy, where their bosses were to be having a goodwill meeting of some kind, to discuss their efforts together and whatnot. Truth be told, their presence at the meetings was more symbolic, like Canada's queen, but it was still a formality that most of them followed.

"Ah, Дякую," Canada said when he was shown to his room. He was a little pink and prayed his accent wasn't too bad or, heaven forbid, French.

"Oh, Matthew, Ви розмовляєте українською?" the young woman asked. She seemed delighted.

"Так, трохи," he replied. Ukraine clapped her hands together once and laughed.

"Now I'll have to improve my English. Or maybe learn French?"

"Y-Your English is fine," Canada replied, a blush streaking his face dark red. He didn't want to say how appealing Ukraine speaking French sounded.

"Mmm, Ukraine's English is even better than mine!" a youthful, cheery voice said. Canada stood ramrod straight and looked like a deer in the headlights and Russia appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. "Добрый день, Matthew," the taller nation said.

"Д-Добрый день, Ivan," Canada replied, relaxing just a little.

"Ah, your Russian is improving!" Russia seemed as delighted as Ukraine had been a few moments ago. Family resemblance, maybe? He smiled and continued, "I'm visiting, too. We should get together some time while you're here to eat, yes?"

"O-Of course." Canada didn't want to say he wasn't really interested in the invite. He was good friends with Russia and didn't want to take a risk doing anything that would put him in his bad books (like wooing his sister, except Canada wasn't wooing her, he was just being a good friend). The tallest nation, though, seemed unconcerned with his friend's apparent nervousness, though, and went off on his way.

Ukraine's face blossomed into a grin that had to be roughly a billion watts and made Canada's face burn dark red.

"I…" he choked on his words, "I should get washed up," he decided, escaping into his room and letting out a very relieved sigh once the door was shut. He smiled a little to himself, fiddled with the strings of his bunnyhug, and decided that maybe he should retrieve his suitcase from the hallway.

----

Getting flowers in the Ukraine was easier than it sounded. Well, maybe that was just what Canada thought, having purchased a particular flower for his friend (_not_ a crush, no matter what his idiotic twin said) for years. Since her independence, in fact.

Maybe in other countries it was much harder, but Canada knew where to go to ask for sunflowers, and as the national flower of Ukraine, people were much more willing to stock to large, vibrant blossoms. It could be said Ukraine was delighted when Canada gave her the large golden flower, a blue bow tied to it as always. But Canada firmly believed the nation was _glowing_ and so what if tears clung to her blue eyes?

"Дякую!" she said, leaning forward and hugging Canada one-handed. It was as if this was her first sunflower again, not her hundred-somethingth (and no, he was not keeping track. At all).

"Mm, Прошу будь даска," Canada replied, hugging her back and most certainly not thinking about the fact her ample bosom was pressed against his front in a very innocent way.

Russia decided it would be great fun to join the hug and wrapped his long arms around his sister and his friend, chuckling all the while. Any cheerful blush escaped Canada's cheeks, and he instead blanched visibly.

"Shall we go to dinner?" Russia asked brightly. He repeated the question in Russian, for Canada's benefit. There was no choice in the matter, of course, reservations for a table for three had already been made.

"Так," both Canada and Ukraine said. They looked at each other and giggled, and maybe Canada blushed just a little.

Dinner was cheerful, at a warm restaurant specializing in traditional Ukrainian food.

"When I go to your house I will have to have some of your food," Ukraine said brightly, eating her Golubsty with zeal.

"Canadian cuisine isn't too distinct," Canada warned gently, going at his own meal with equal zeal.

"The beaver tails you made me were most delicious, Matthew," Russia cut in cheerfully.

"B-Beaver tails?" Ukraine suddenly looked alarmed. Her eyes were already misting at the thought of the poor innocent beavers being slaughtered to make hats and snacks.

"A pastry topped with brown sugar and cinnamon," Canada answered quickly. "It's large and flat, so we call them beaver tails." Relief seemed to sweep through the young woman. The misting in her eyes went away and she smiled.

Russia excused himself from the table, promising to be back in a few minutes. Without her big brother acting as a sort of chaperone, Canada felt much more tense sitting with Ukraine. His throat was getting dry, and the glass holding his beer was empty. So was the water glass. So he reached for the pitcher of water. Apparently Ukraine had been thirsty, too. They yelped as their hands touched.

"Вибачте!" Canada choked. He would've withdrawn his hand, except his was under hers and she felt so cool and soft. Something settled between them, as silent and unobtrusive as a December snowfall.

"Matthew…" Ukraine began to say, as Canada said her nickname with equal timidness. She almost got a "Вибачте" out but Canada shook his head. "Go ahead," he said gently. The tone of his voice made her flush.

"Дуже дякую," she said. "For being my friend, for treating me so well." She hadn't withdrawn her hand yet, and was now stroking Canada's strong fingers under hers without a thought. "I was so happy that someone who knew me so well was one of the first to acknowledge my independence. And before then you took me in when I needed somewhere to stay for a while." She glanced down at their still touching hands then flicked her eyes up to look straight at Canada. "Дуже дякую," she repeated.

Canada was blushing and decided that, to hell with it, he had it bad for Ukraine. The sudden acknowledgement of his crush made him flush even redder. "I-It was nothing," he replied, trying not to think about how wonderful that stroking on his fingers felt. "I did what anyone would've done."

"Maybe," Ukraine agreed softly, looking at their hands intently.

The silence settled between them again, a little more comfortable this time. Canada twisted his hand around to hold Ukraine's and rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. They were both flushed bright red, staring at their hands and forgetting that they were in a restaurant. Suddenly Ukraine wrenched her hand away and looked up. Canada's gaze shot to the approaching Russia, grinning blithely, and was suddenly very thankful his friend was good at knowing where her brother was.

----

When it was time to go back, too soon for Ukraine or Canada's tastes, they parted at the airport. But before Canada could leave Ukraine threw her arms around his neck and pressed close to his body (deep breaths, stay calm, deep breasts -- damnit). She smiled against his shoulder, then stood on her tip toes. Her mouth was dangerously close to his ear.

"_Merci,"_ she whispered, a hint of something slightly-less-than-innocent at the fringes of her voice.

No, Canada was most certainly not turning bright red as the excess blood from his face rushed downwards. Not at all.

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A/N: Ahahaha, shaky characterisation abounds! But seeing as Canada/Ukraine is just so rare, I figure it's only fair to post this.

The Ukrainian should be pretty obvious, but if you need translations do let me know~ (I stole my Ukrainian from omniglot, in case you're curious. Same with the Russian.)


End file.
